by Shaye Marlow
“Thank god.”
Helly rolled her eyes, and then headed down to the beach to meet the plane at her little dock.
I leaned toward Rory. “We could leave. Just claim we have a catapult emergency, and go.”
Gary was grinning. Nibbling on a turkey leg, and grinning.
“They don’t know about Frances,” I muttered.
“So?” Rory whispered back.
My heart was racing, trying to figure out how to explain her away, how best to not give our parents ideas.
“Just tell them the truth,” Rory said. “That she’s teaching you how to fly,” he elaborated after my blank look.
“Oh. Right.” I blew out a breath, feeling a little better. “Right.”
Frances laughed, swiveling in her seat to watch my parents disembark. First came my mom, gushing out of the airplane to envelop Helly in a big, sloppy hug. And then my dad, who was all rigid angles, suffering through his own embrace. Gary stepped out onto the dock to help with their bags, and I realized I’d missed a prime opportunity to look courteous and amazing. Instead, I got to watch Frances scope out Gary’s biceps as he carried the bags up to the cabin.
And then the parents were advancing up the beach.
“We have incoming,” Rory said. A giant smile bloomed on his face, and he jumped up to be engulfed by Mom.
I shoved to my feet to brace for my own hug and copious cooing. Over Mom’s shoulder, I watched Frances watch as I was nearly strangled by my mom’s flowy top.
“Zack, you’ve gotten so big!” Mom said.
“I stopped growing ten years ago.”
“No. Not possible,” she said, pushing back to look up at me. “You’re so huge.” Her blue eyes were watering a little, and for a terrifying moment I thought she might start to cry. But instead: “I can’t believe you came out of my vagina.”
“Mom,” I said, my voice strangled.
“Oh, you always did have such delicate sensibilities. Big, tough guy, scars, tattoos, and he blushes at the word ‘vagina’.”
“You said it again,” Rory pointed out.
“Vagina, vagina, vagina,” our mom said, and then she caught sight of Frances. “Hello. Don’t tell me. Helly’s finally embracing polyamory, and you’re their third?” At least Mom was an equal-opportunity embarrasser.
“No!” Helly said.
“Then Suzy here has forsaken Ed, and decided to go lesbian? Is the wedding off, then?”
“No!” Suzy said.
“Well, I’m running out of options, here,” she said, her gaze sweeping over Rory and me without so much as a spark. “Then… that awkward pseudo-friend that heard you were having a barbecue, and you felt obligated to invite?”
Helly slapped her hands over her face, and like a turtle in its shell, refused to resurface.
Frances stood up, and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Frances.”
And for all of a single moment, I thought everything would be fine.
Then Frances said, “I’m Gary’s mistress on the side. Shhh, Helly doesn’t know.”
Mom’s eyes widened, Helly’s head came up, Gary looked like he’d been struck, and Suzy started laughing.
Then Mom’s eyes lit up.
“Separate them,” Rory said urgently, grabbing Mom’s arm. “Here, you can sit with me.”
“We haven’t even been introduced,” she said, shaking him off. She put her hand in Frances’s. “I’m Sunny. And this sad sack coming up the rear—” she snickered “—is Gus. It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, yanking Frances in for her signature hug.
She finally pushed Frances back at arm’s length to peer at her. “Wait. You look like you need another.” She dragged her back in and squeezed her tight for another several seconds before beginning the interrogation. “Now, who are you really?”
“She’steachingmetofly,” I said, spitting it out too quickly.
“What?”
“She’s my flight instructor,” I said, forcing myself to slow. Willing my mother to believe me.
“Wait. You’re with these two?”
“Yep, trading sex for flying lessons,” Frances said cheerfully.
Mom eyed her. “Really?”
Frances nodded. “They do anything I want, sexually.”
“Nonono,” Rory was saying, waving his hands.
“Really?”
“Yep. Just the other day, Rory was giving me ass-to-mouth, really getting into it—”
Rory screamed.
Mom grasped Frances’s hand. “So, tell me which one you’re hot for. Really.”
Frances’s gaze flicked to me—a gaze which my mother quickly followed.
“Ahhh,” she said. “Let me tell you something about Zack. When he was a little boy, he liked to play with his penis.”
“Mom,” I croaked. “Please.”
“Don’t all little boys play with their penises?” Suzy asked.
“Yes, but Zack really, really liked to play with himself. We couldn’t get his hand off of it. He just ran around all the time, penis in hand. Pants, no pants. Company, no company. Didn’t matter. Why, I remember one time he ran into the room, pantless and singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, and we had Darla McGee over, and she’s faint of heart. He strutted over, proud as a rooster, and thumped on his penis a few times—it was hard, you see—and I thought he’d killed her.”
“Mom.” I was dying. I wanted to die. I wanted to be struck down by lightning. I wanted Rory to put a glob of mashed potatoes over my face and just hold it there. I could never meet Frances’s eyes or be seen in public again. Oh my god.
Gary was silently cracking up. Helly wheezed.
And Frances. Ah, Frances. She was absorbing every word. “What did you do?” she asked.
“Nothing worked! We’d try to scare him, told him his penis would fall off, and that he’d grow hair on his palms—that one really excited him, though, because he’d always had this obsession with Wolverine—and we tried a rewards system, and you know what finally, finally worked? We put a hockey stick in his hand, instead. Oh my lord, am I glad Zack found hockey.”
Mom gasped, spying Gary’s plate. “I love turkey legs!” She dashed toward the grill.
Frances looked over at me, and then she smiled.
“Zack, I’m sorry,” Helly said. “I didn’t know…”
I just shook my head. I couldn’t speak. There was nothing to say.
“Oh, Zack, before I forget, I was at one of those Arabian Nights dinner shows, and they were selling these amazing swashbuckling outfits, and Helly’d told me there’d been an incident with your clothes—”
“How?” I mouthed, wondering how she’d heard about that.
Helly pointed at Suzy, who mouthed, “Dotty.”
“—and so I bought you a set, and remember how I used to send you and Rory to school in matching outfits? Well, they had a couple colors, and so I bought Rory a set, too, and now you can both swashbuckle!”
Rory and I both went ass-to-chair. I was trying to control my breathing. Trying not to hyperventilate.
“Mom, don’t you think they’re a little old for—” Helly started.
“Only if they care what people think! And I thought they’d gotten over that years ago. Hadn’t you?” she asked.
I don’t know which of us she was talking to, because I was staring out into the woods.
“Zack was feeling a little sick, earlier,” Frances said. “I think maybe it’s caught up to him.”
I needed no further urging. I was already on my feet and headed to the Jeep.
“But the pie!” Rory cried from somewhere behind me.
“You could just take a rest in Helly’s cabin,” Mom called. “Zack, you haven’t even said hi to your father!”
I whirled. “Hi, Dad.”
He nodded. “Son.”
Then I scuttled to the Jeep.
“It’s okay, Rory,” Frances said behind me. “You can stay. You’ll just have to hike home through the mosquito-infested forest later, whil
e we have hot, nasty sex in your bed.”
Rory beat her to the passenger side door, and a grinning Frances climbed in behind him.
I belted myself into the driver’s seat, turned back to give my gathered family and assorted others a quick wave, and found a flurry of fur and hooves in my face. I yelled.
“Calm down,” Suzy said. She lowered the baby goat so that I could see its face. “Remember?”
“Fuck.”
“Watch your mouth. This is a young and impressionable kid.”
“Just throw it in the back,” Rory said. “Hurry. Mom is coming.”
But Suzy wasn’t fast enough, and Mom reached through my window to plaster wet kisses all over my face. “Oh, it was good to see you,” she cooed. “I’m gonna miss my munchkins. But I’ll see you soon. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” I allowed.
“Remember to feed him!” Suzy called.
Mom retracted her arms, and then Rory said, “Drive. Drive!”
And I did.
I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Frances had gathered the goat against her chest, and was languidly stroking his back. Catching my gaze, she smiled her slightly evil smile, and suddenly she looked like a super-villain plotting something.
“And his name,” she said, “shall be Puck.”
Chapter Fourteen
ZACK
We tried to leave for Dotty’s without her, but at the last moment, Frances jumped down into the boat, finally wearing some clothes.
She’d emerged from her bedroom that morning like a forest siren in a tiny green nighty, with Puck cavorting around her ankles—this, because she’d insisted a predator would eat the little goat and/or he’d get lonely if we left him outside overnight. I would’ve sworn the wind was blowing as her hair fluttered back from her face and that little scrap of silk plastered itself to her body. She’d sashayed across the cabin, flashing thigh with each hip-swaying step. I’d followed her out the door, hypnotized, and watched as she petted the goat before letting him into the little fenced enclosure Rory and I had arranged for him.
When Frances had bent over, she’d flashed thong. I wondered if she was still wearing it, even as I acknowledged she was the clear winner of this morning’s temptation competition.
Frances sat down in the seat next to Rory, her eyes on mine. Next to her, Rory was hurriedly skimming The Art of War, looking for clues on how to deal with one supernatural old woman.
Frances sat still for all of ten seconds. During that time, she blatantly stared at me, making parts of me stir that had no business at Dotty’s, ever again. Ten seconds of the hot and wandering eye, and then she came back and plunked herself onto the bench next to me. I struggled not to react to the scent of her as I accelerated into the current.
The roar of the engine and whistle of wind was such that she had to yell into my ear to be heard. “I see hockey sticks weren’t the only thing you found,” she said, casting a glance toward my hand on the tiller. She watched with apparent delight as my cheeks burned despite the cool air lashing them.
She slowly leaned in, and when I turned to look at her, our lips nearly brushed. “You should watch where you’re going,” she said.
Because she was right, I turned my gaze forward. As she continued to study me, I wondered what could be so fascinating about the side of my head.
“You have a hair growing out of your ear,” she informed me, yelling it.
I slapped my free hand over the offending body part, making her chuckle. I thought she said, “It’s okay, it’s cute,” but I couldn’t be sure. She peeled my hand away, and her fingers lingered, exploring mine. My fingers curled as she traced them, and when she scraped her nail lightly across the crease of my palm, I was suddenly—as Rory would’ve said, while rubbing his own—“all nipply”. Glad she couldn’t see through my float coat, I reclaimed my hand.
She moved on to exploring my head and neck. Now, usually, I would be all about her paying attention to me, touching me, but we’d be at Dotty’s in five minutes, and the last thing I wanted to bring to this meeting was a boner. I didn’t want to discourage her, but… “Frances,” I said, hoping my tone would do my talking for me.
“Oh, I do like that tone,” she said. “Do it again.”
“Frances!” That squeak was a direct result of her hand on my belly. She’d snuck it beneath my float coat and shirt, and had flattened it against my abs. Right above my cock. I pressed a hand over hers to keep it from wandering.
That didn’t stop her mouth, though. A moment later, she was kissing my neck.
“Frances.” Strangled groan this time.
“Mmm, I like it all the ways,” she said. Her lips were soft, brushing lightly, the hot puffs of her breath chasing goose bumps across my skin.
“I’d prefer… not to be hard for this meeting,” I managed, though was pretty sure the wind had whipped my words away before she caught them.
Instead of stopping, she opened her mouth and did the most wondrous thing: She applied suction. My hand tightened over hers, still trapped in my shirt, but there was no hope for me, not anymore. My erection had graduated to ‘raging’.
I met Rory’s gaze, trying to send SOS vibes. He frowned at me, his look becoming downright disapproving as Frances kissed her way up my jaw. He swiveled in his seat, giving us some measure of privacy and leaving me to my own devices.
Frances was nibbling on my face in an enjoyable sort of way, scraping my stubble with her teeth. Then she swept up to my ear, and chills rippled down my spine as she delicately traced the whorls of cartilage with her tongue. She chased that with a groin-tightening flick of my lobe.
“You having fun?” I growled.
“Oh, yes. My only regret,” she breathed, the words drifting like pure sin into my ear, “is that I won’t be getting any relief for a while. Although, I guess I could visit the bathroom at Dotty’s. What do you think about that?” Her nails scraped my abs.
I thought my cock was throbbing more furiously than it ever had before, first at her implication that I excited her, and then at the image of her touching herself. “How would you do it?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Why, standing, I suppose. Pants and panties pulled down to my knees, and with my eyes closed, imagining you were behind me, and it was your fingers inside me, and your hand smacking my ass. Tugging my hair…”
I did tug her hair, then. I slid my fingers into it, and dragged her so she was off-balance, leaning across my chest. Then I kissed her, and discovered her tongue’s attention to detail extended past ear cartilage. It slid along mine, and then began to pump and retreat, mimicking sex so perfectly, I was afraid that if she touched me now, I’d explode. “You,” I pulled back to mutter, wrapping my hand even more tightly in her hair.
She smiled up at me, as confident and sexy as Cleopatra, and even more perfect than that first day I’d spotted her on that balcony. Her eyes were the color of the river, but even deeper and more wild. They roiled with mischief.
She moved from my mouth to my chin, and I was glad, because I was getting too excited. My breaths heaved, and I was having a bit of difficulty seeing—which was a problem, as Frances had said. If I hit a rock, or another boat…
But, Frances’s goals apparently did not align with mine. She threw her leg over my lap, thrust her hand down the front of my pants, and latched onto my neck with a sexy, animalistic growl. Her hand wrapped around my cock, sending me reeling.
I cupped her ass with my free hand, assuming if she liked it as rough as she was being—
With a cry so sexy, it’d be echoing in my head for days, she took my mouth. And when I say she ‘took’ it, I mean she grabbed me by the collar, slammed her mouth down over mine, and ravaged me. I’d never received a bossier, more commanding kiss in my life.
I couldn’t see anymore, because I’d closed my eyes to feel. Her lips were cool, her hands hot. She tasted like cinnamon candy and temptation one moment, and then bacon and whips’n chains the next. She was
sweet as a schoolgirl, and then as she squeezed my cock, so, so naughty.
I clutched her close, and it was all I could do to keep up. Oh, and struggle not to cum.
Too late. Fuuuuck.
I panted as she stroked me through it. Her hand gentled as the pulsing subsided, and when she straightened up, her cheeks were bright, her hair blowing in her wicked eyes. She lifted her finger to her mouth, and tasted me.
My balls tightened up and I watched with fascination as her pink tongue flicked out to lick her finger clean. I heard a roaring in my ears—
Oh, wait. That was my brother.
“Zack!” Rory yelled.
I looked up, but it was too late.
We hit the shore going about thirty miles per hour.
I released the throttle and threw my arms around Frances as the boat drove itself up the beach. We slammed into the bank below the Hindmans’ lawn, and our momentum threw Frances and me right off our bench. We hit Rory, and we all wound up in a tangled pile in the bow.
Below us, Rory groaned. He looked up, past Frances, at me, and his brows drew down. Then his nose wrinkled. Grimacing, he guided Frances’s fist away from his face.
Frances started to laugh. “Look, Dotty, we just crashed into your beach, but we’re totally reformed, we swear,” she mocked, giggling.
Growling, I peeled her off my brother and handed her a rag for her hand. Then I gave Rory a hand up, at the top of which he said, “You owe me.”
Then, pain exploded across my jaw.
A jackhammer of a fist knocked me clear out of the boat.
Scrambling to my feet on the rocky shore, I glimpsed George rounding the bow, his eye locked on me. He looked… well, furious.
I didn’t need an invitation. I hit him in the face. It barely rocked him. Then he hit me, and I refused to show more reaction than he had. So I slugged him again. He punched me. I punched him.
We were doing fine, settling this thing between us like gentlemen—until George’s next punch was preceded by a set of brass knuckles.